


Only Ones Who Know

by Sinsation



Category: The Following
Genre: Grinding, Hand Jobs, M/M, Rough Sex Acts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 05:51:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1807711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinsation/pseuds/Sinsation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike watched as Ryan reclined into the soft leather of his couch, lips pressing against the edge of a hot mug of apple cider. </p>
<p>With a softened gaze and tentative fingers, Mike reached out and placed a hand on his arm, pressing his palm into the synthetic fabric of Ryan’s suit jacket.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Ones Who Know

Mike watched as Ryan reclined into the soft leather of his couch, lips pressing against the edge of a hot mug of apple cider.  
  
With a softened gaze and tentative fingers, Mike reached out and placed a hand on his arm, pressing his palm into the synthetic fabric of Ryan’s suit jacket.  
  
He couldn’t bring himself to repeat those comforting words Ryan whispered to him as he lay dying in that wretched warehouse those many months ago; bruised, defeated and broken after his fight with Charlie. It wasn’t going to be okay, and both of the men knew it.

"It’s all gone to Hell." Mumbling over his cider, Ryan leaned towards Mike. "Hell in a fucking hand basket."  
  
The space between the men closed as Mike edged himself next to Ryan, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and resting his head in the crook of Ryan’s neck.  
  
It had been nearly a year since Ryan returned to his teaching job and Joe was sent off into solitary confinement.  
  
After months spent alone, Ryan- ever so quietly- let Mike slip back into his life as if he were the symptom of a dormant disease.  
  
Mike had no objections to it. When he saw Ryan’s pale skin and darkened eyes pleading at his front door at 11:46 PM on September 21st, he had to _let him in_. Within ten minutes of Ryan’s arrival they cried, hugged, swore and pleaded each other’s names between heated shouts of betrayal.  
  
They both soon found their arguing to be fruitless. Ryan sat, slumped over with his head in his hands and Mike’s fingertips tracing circles around his back in a sign of undeserved forgiveness.  
  
Ryan was Mike’s kryptonite.  
  
He idolized him nearly to the point of obsession. Overtime, he started to see the man behind the headline: the real, breathing, headstrong Ryan Hardy with a tongue sharper than broken diamonds and a will stronger than steel.  
  
The year spent away from Ryan ate a hole in his psyche. Those sleepless nights staring at the blank ceiling nearly pushed him to swallow a handful of little white bullets from the pharmacy down the street. Lily and Luke were dead, but so was his father and his relationship with Max.  
  
Max left him when she realized that he was using her as a way to get closer to Ryan.  
  
 _You need help that I can’t give you, Mike._ She said it with frustrated calmness, her broken words barely forcing away a steady flow of tears.  
  
After copious counselling sessions, he pieced together what was left of his sanity. He quit using narcotics and stopped having one-night stands.  
  
"Thank you, Mike. I mean it." The sincerity in Ryan’s voice made Mike’s stomach flip.  
  
He swallowed. “It’s nothing.”  
  
"It’s something. You mean something." Placing his mug down on the glass coffee table, Ryan let his arm slip behind Mike, tugging him towards his chest.  
  
He collapsed into Ryan, both of their bodies falling back on the wide sofa; Mike nearly on top of him. He rested against his hero, sealing his eyes shut and squeezing the older man so tightly that Ryan swore he’d have to _peel_ him off afterwards.

There was no single motivation, no reason or logic behind Ryan’s decision to hold the agent close and run his hands through his hair and down his firm back in long, deliberate strokes. It was the desperation and deprivation of human warmth that drove him to do it, Ryan rationalized, _he just feels so warm, so real._  
  
The faint scent of cologne lingered on Ryan’s shirt collar. For a brief moment Mike wondered what it would be like to pepper the older man’s neck with light kisses, slowly making his way to Ryan’s defined jaw. “I thought you hated me.”  
  
Ryan chuckled, his chest shaking with every breath. “Who could ever hate someone like you?”  
  
The answer was simple.  
  
"I would hate someone like me." The fireplace crackled, casting long shadows across the floor. "I would kill someone like me." The words ripped themselves free from Mike’s mouth.  
  
Ryan tensed. “No. You’re a good man.”  
  
"Not good enough, apparently."  
  
"Then what _is_ good enough?” Ryan’s hand lingered on the small of Mike’s back. “There’s no such thing as _good enough_. When I stopped trying to be my version of good, I got sober. I paid off my bills, got in touch with my family again and lived. I’m living, Mike, and it feels _great_.”  
  
Maybe his near death experience set off a chain of character development and forced Ryan to either throw himself off of a building or face the fucked-up world in which he lived.  
  
Ryan seemed to be doing good, Mike figured _._ Whether it was fate or luck, he looked like he was coping well.  
  
Of course, Mike knew better than that. He saw the way Ryan’s lip lifted in contempt every time Joe’s name was spoken; the way sadness flashed deep within his eyes if a boy that resembled Joey walked past him.  
  
He was a part of The Case, and The Case would always be a part of him.  
  
"I don’t…I don’t think I remember what living feels like, Ryan." It was true that he didn’t. He wasn’t depressed. Or sad, or happy, or anything. He was so numb that the bitter grip of frostbite would be a welcoming sensation.  
  
"What are you feeling right now?" Ryan asked. Maybe he learned a bit too much from his counsellor.  
  
Moving his head as if he were nodding, Mike hoped– _prayed_ – that the feeling of Ryan’s smooth dress shirt against his cheek wasn’t an act of his vast imagination.  
  
"I feel…" He couldn’t describe something that was so foreign.  
  
After a moment, he replied.  
  
"Safe. I feel safe." He ran a hand up Ryan’s chest, pausing above his heart. "Safer than I’ve ever been."  
  
Nothing could hurt him when he was wrapped up in his hero’s embrace; snuggled away from the hopeless terrors outside.  
  
Mike tilted his head up, placing a chaste kiss on Ryan’s cheek.  
  
Ryan wasn’t surprised. It was obvious that the agent radiated admiration for him. Debra mentioned it to him a few times before she passed away-… _take care of him, Ryan, don’t let that kid go._ _He needs you just as much as you need him_. The words rang sharp, reverberating against the walls of his skull.  
  
Ryan returned the kiss, pressing his lips to Mike’s forehead.  
  
It was a surprise to Mike that Ryan would be so comfortable with the situation. Not that he could think of a word other than ‘situation’ to describe the unfolding scenario.  
  
Humming with the buzz of contentedness, Mike felt brave enough to nip at the soft skin on Ryan’s neck.  
  
In return, Ryan let his hand slip under the hem of Mike’s sweater, letting his fingertips explore the area of his lower back, gliding over dips of smooth, toned muscle.  
  
Similar to a game of poker, it was the agent’s turn. With a Cheshire grin and heated cheeks, Mike barely grazed Ryan’s skin as he let his lips create a trail of fleeting butterflies towards his mouth.  
  
Ryan urged him on, grabbing fistfuls of Mike’s sweater, sighing out rapid breaths and little moans weighed down with ecstasy.  
  
The agent didn’t care for caution or innocent excuses to stop himself from going further.  
  
He kissed him.  
  
Ryan tasted warm and sweet; a cocktail of honey and cinnamon.  
  
Mike nipped Ryan’s lower lip playfully. Ryan gladly let him gain access.  
  
The fabric of their clothes formed an unwanted barrier between them. Young fingers hurriedly unbuttoned Ryan’s shirt. Blue jean clad hips bucked forward on impulse, craving friction.  
  
Ryan helped Mike out of his sweater, discarding it off to the side. Mike’s body was beautiful; sculpted by hours of training and the skilled craftsmanship of a God who knew how beautiful his gift to Earth would be. “Are you sure you want to do this?”  
  
Unquestioning blue eyes stared back at him. “Yes.”  
  
"Things between us will never be the same."  
  
"We just made out like two virgins at prom. If we stop now, we’ll just live with the knowledge that we both _really_ wanted to fuck each other but stopped because of some pretend moral boundary.”  
  
"…You’re a nerd."  
  
"You’re an asshole."  
  
"I could make ten different _asshole_ jokes, but I wouldn’t want to ruin the moment.” The ex-detective squirmed out of his sleeves and tossed his shirt on the floor.  
  
They let their fingertips roam over the torso of one another.  
  
Mike was raised in a strict conservative Christian household, with an outspoken Catholic mother and a father who couldn’t stand the thought of letting _fags_ into the army.  
  
His skin grew hot at the thought of those nights he spent crying himself to sleep after his father verbally abused him, cursing at his son for having the audacity to reject military school in favor of a normal teenage life.  
  
There were rumors spreading through his family that something wasn’t quite right with Corporal Weston’s youngest. Mike never told anyone that he was bisexual, and the only reason that he didn’t enlist was because of a law known as don’t-ask-don’t-tell.  
  
Of course he slept with women, but kept on the down low and always made sure to clear his browsing history.  
  
Ryan, on the other hand, slept with men, women, and everyone in between.  
  
Pansexual and proud, Ryan never had a problem admitting it if he was asked. He didn’t give a rat’s ass as to what anyone thought, and the blatantly homophobic media didn’t want to spoil the image of Ryan Hardy: The All-American Hero.  
  
"You’ve never slept with a guy before, have you?"  
  
"…Is it that obvious?" The agent changed positions, straddling Ryan’s hips. He was careful to maintain balance and keep himself upright, leaning one arm against the back of the sofa. "I’m going off what I learned from years of watching gay porn and reading fucked up Star Wars fanfiction."  
  
"Okay." Ryan wiped a hand down his face. "Follow my lead."  
  
Removing Mike’s belt, Ryan unzipped the agent’s jeans.  
  
 _This is really happening._ Biting on his tongue, Mike assured himself that he wasn’t dreaming.  
  
He let out a surprised breath as Ryan massaged the growing bulge hidden in a pair of yellow smiley face boxer shorts.  
  
Mike undid Ryan’s pants, sliding them down to reveal that _holyfuckingshit Ryan went commando_. He would have laughed if his nervousness allowed him to.  
  
He wrapped his right hand around Ryan’s shaft, c _arefully_ , slowly beginning to work his wrist into a steady rhythm.  
  
Ryan freed Mike’s dick from the confines of his boxers. Mike inhaled sharply, eyes rolling at the ethereal sensation of Ryan’s thumb massaging pre-cum around the tip of his cock.  
  
Mike pumped his hand faster. He stopped for a moment to lick his fingers, tasting Ryan in a way that he could only have imagined.  
  
"Damn, Ryan, yes." The way he said his name triggered a coil of pleasure in Ryan’s abdomen; his cock standing erect in Mike’s talented hands.  
  
Lips met once more; the agent losing the last of his inhibitions and moaning _Ryan_ into his lover’s mouth over and _over_ again as if it were a hushed prayer. “Faster, please…”  
  
Hips bucked and grinded as lust-filled shouts of pleasure rang throughout the room.  
  
"Fuck, Mike…" The agent was certainly gifted. He could load a gun in one second flat, and he could work a cock into full salute in less than a minute.  
  
There was something primal about the situation. Lions fighting for dominance; manes dripping with sweat and throats craving to be filled by their lover’s essence…  
  
It would be too much too soon, and both of the men knew it.  
  
"Damn…" Ryan pulled Mike closer to him, the weight of the agent’s body on his reminding him of every single 3 AM fuck he’s ever had.  
  
The feeling of another human being writhing under Mike’s form brought forth images of acrobatic wall sex and spontaneous hook ups, clothes strewn down the hallway between the livingroom and bedroom.  
  
They breathed each other. Ryan wanted nothing more than to see Mike arch his back and scream up at the sky, cry out for _him_ in an ecstasy sweeter than cherry cordial and more intoxicating than a shot of heroin into his veins.  
  
"Stain me, Ryan." He panted. "Leave your…fingerprints."  
  
Reluctantly, Ryan removed his hands from Mike’s shaft and grabbed him by the shoulders, squeezing hard. He raked his nails down Mike’s back; words flying out of his mouth in a near intelligible heap. _You are mine. You will always. Be. Mine._  
  
In that singular moment, Mike was _his_ and his alone.  
  
He didn’t care about the pulsing irrationality or the feeling of post-coital emptiness that would rise with the sun in a few hours’ time.  
  
 _I want you on me. In me._ He pulled at Mike’s waist hard enough to leave bruises. “I want you.”  
  
Their tongues and lips moved in harmony; their bodies fighting the urge to push their boundaries.  
  
"I…I’m coming…" A surge of electricity ripped through the lines of passion etched into Mike’s back, coursing down into his core and up his spine. He parted his mouth and raised his head up, eyes fluttering closed and brows furrowing as he rode out his orgasm, lips parted into a perfect ‘O,’ hands pressing on Ryan’s chest as he gave a final groan and agonizingly slow whine, body shaking and panting, "Ryan, fuck, yes…"  
  
He cummed onto Ryan’s abdomen.  
  
He wished he could orgasm twice when he saw Ryan dip his index finger into his cum, licking it off slowly as if it were the best icing he had ever tasted.  
  
Gripping Mike’s biceps, Ryan gave another two thrusts and came hard onto Mike’s stomach. He kissed him, savoring the heat of the agent’s perfect mouth.  
  
Mike eased himself on top of Ryan, his body soaking in a wash of bliss. The ex-detective hugged him tightly, their cocks pressing together in the tight space between them.  
  
It made Ryan queasy to think that Mike and his niece would have been in the same position a few weeks earlier.  
  
"I know what you’re thinking." Taking a deep breath, Mike traced the outline of Ryan’s nipple. "Max broke up with me because she knew…that I was, somehow, projecting my feelings for you onto her."  
  
"How long?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"How long have you had a fangirl crush on me?"  
  
"The first time I met you, I thought you were a jackass. A noble jackass." Mike smiled at the memory. "I figured out that it was something more when you held my broken body in your arms and prayed to an invisible God, begging him to take you instead."  
  
Ryan played with Mike’s soft hair.  
  
"You’ve never had feelings for me, have you?" A part of him didn’t want to hear the answer.  
  
"You remember that time I dropped out of your life, a few weeks after Joe burned in that lighthouse?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"That’s when it happened. When I saw you at the bar and you tried to shove some sense into my thick skull."  
  
"Oh." Mike moved over to Ryan’s side, unsticking himself from the drying cum on their chests. He rested next to his lover, comfortable and warm. "Guys at the BAU are going to have an aneurysm if they found out."

Ryan kissed Mike’s forehead tenderly. “Let’s keep it between us, then. Only we’ll know.”  
  
His mother and his brothers would disown him if they ever found out. As far as his mother was concerned, Mike was one of the reasons why their father was murdered. It would break their family apart if they discovered his…interesting choice in relationship partner.  
  
"We can figure it out later." Ryan assured him. "It’s going to be okay, Mike."  
  
"I know." _I’m gonna be okay._ For the first time in what seemed to be years, the youngest agent in the bureau didn’t care about consequences or imaginary ‘what ifs.’  
  
All he cared about was lying right next to _his_ lover, with his pants around his knees and a spark of growing love hidden deep in his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by the song, 'Only Ones Who Know' by The Arctic Monkeys.
> 
> All comments (and kudos!) are greatly appreciated.


End file.
